


whispers trail and linger

by dayevsphil



Series: tumblr prompts [2]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Hallucinations, Imaginary Friends, M/M, Psychological Horror, Unsettling, mention of suicidal thoughts in the past tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 18:56:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21020636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dayevsphil/pseuds/dayevsphil
Summary: Dan had an imaginary friend when he was young. It doesn't seem to have gotten the memo that he's grown up.





	whispers trail and linger

**Author's Note:**

> rated for mention of suicidal thoughts in the past tense, please tread carefully. used a dialogue prompt from charlotte to open, thanks dear! had a lot of fun experimenting w this one, as i've never written anything like it before. happy october!
> 
> bingo squares: hallucinations + wingfic + midnight swim + destruction
> 
> read and reblog on tumblr [here!](https://dayevsphil.tumblr.com/post/188329141873/whispers-trail-and-linger)

"The diamond in your engagement ring is fake."

Dan freezes. After a long beat, his muscles slowly untense, one by one, and he inhales deeply. Maybe if he doesn't look up from his laptop, the voice will go away.

It doesn't. Dan should really know better than that by now. 

"You know that, right? It's, like, zircon."

"It's cubic zirconia," Dan says, and then he scowls at himself. He hadn't meant to respond, doesn't want to go down this rabbit hole again. He keeps his eyes trained on the blinking cursor on his screen, even though his fingers have stopped typing.

"Sounds like the same thing to me. Point is, it's not a diamond. Why isn't it a diamond?"

"I didn't want a diamond," says Dan.

"Why not?"

"Because. Most diamond mining is irresponsible, and I don't want a reminder of deforestation and soil erosion on my finger."

"Huh. Can I touch it?"

Dan inhales again, through his nose this time. He could say no. He _should_ say no.

Still, he's spent a good chunk of his time in therapy talking about this, and he knows that it isn't real. It won't actually hurt him. So, reluctantly, Dan holds his left hand out, over the abyss that is the space between his sofa and the end table.

It isn't real, he knows it isn't real, but the shock of cool fingers touching his own makes him shiver anyway.

The logical part of Dan's brain - which is the majority of it, really - always feels so muddled when this happens. It doesn't seem to matter that he's spent years and years working through the trauma that he expects is the cause of this, it still feels so fucking real in the moment. He can _feel_ the cold, gentle weight of fingertips tracing over his ring before they skitter away.

"Feels weird. I like diamonds better."

"It doesn't feel like anything," Dan says flatly. "It's a rock in some metal."

"Such a nice way to talk about a gift, Danny."

"Don't call me that," Dan snaps, and his gaze jerks away from his laptop automatically. He regrets it, wishes he'd held back the instinct.

It - not 'him', never 'him', because it isn't _real_ \- stands in Dan's lounge like it belongs there, all long limbs and eerily pale skin. It looks human, or near enough, unless Dan looks closely.

He doesn't want to look closely. He turns back to his screen and stares at the cursor again.

"Dan, then," it says. Its tone is amused, a little condescending. Dan prickles, but he doesn't rise to the bait. After a long, quiet moment where Dan clenches his jaw and does not, in any way, acknowledge its presence, the voice comes again, light and conversational. "And here you said you'd marry me. It's very like you to break a promise, isn't it?"

That's too far. Dan can't hold back his angry, "I was _seven_, it wouldn't count as a real promise even if you _did_ exist."

It laughs. The hairs on the back of Dan's neck stand up.

"You know that I exist." 

"No," Dan says, and he wishes he could sound more certain. The fact is, he struggles with the concept of existence in general, and it becomes somewhat of an existential thing. Does it exist, even though it only exists in Dan's mind? He can't be sure of the answer.

"I suppose you're right," it says thoughtfully, acting like Dan hasn't spoken. "We were way too young to make a promise so big."

"Plus, you're a figment of my diseased imagination," Dan deadpans. His heartrate picks up a bit, the way it always does when he vocalizes this thing. "So I'm guessing the ceremony would be a bit fucking weird, as well."

"Am I?" It sounds delighted. "Wouldn't that be something."

Dan takes another deep breath. It won't get a rise out of him, not this time. It's been an expert at poking and prodding sore spots for far too long.

Maybe if he just keeps working and refuses to talk to it, it'll get bored. It gets bored very easily. Dan brings both his hands back to his laptop keyboard and, as if he's moving through sludge, starts typing again. He's not sure if any of it makes sense, too hyperaware that he isn't alone right now to pay much attention to the words he's typing.

He doesn't hear it move, but he supposes he doesn't have to. The only indication that it isn't standing to his left anymore is the brush of a light, unfortunately familiar weight over his shoulders. 

Dan's muscles tense up again. He knows it's leaning over the back of the couch now, looking at his screen, and honestly, that would make him uncomfortable even if it was another human doing it. 

"Music, yeah? You always liked music. Glad you're writing about something you like instead of trying to force yourself into what they want."

No matter how old Dan gets, he still can't figure out who 'they' are. It references a 'them' a lot, and Dan used to think it was talking about his parents. Then he thought it was talking about the shitty bullies at school. Now, he has no idea who or what his fucked up subconscious is trying to warn him against.

"What did they want?" Dan asks. He's got no willpower at all, has he. 

"Oh, you know," it says, its breath ghosting over the back of Dan's neck. Dan feels goosebumps start to rise over his arms, even under his thick hoodie. 

"I _don't_ know," Dan says, irritated. "I've never known."

"Don't you?"

"Am I always this annoying to talk to?" Dan wonders out loud. If this is what a small part of his psyche sounds like, then he feels bad for his friends and fiancé for dealing with him all the time. 

It laughs, low and uninhibited. Out of the corner of his eye, Dan sees the shape of something dark stretching out.

He won't look. He doesn't look. Not that it really matters. Dan knows what the shape is, has known it his entire life. The sight of it comforted him, once upon a time.

"No, you're much worse," it jokes, and the shape retracts back. Dan hates that he almost misses the peripheral view, hates that he keeps talking to his own delusion like it's going to do him any fucking good at all.

"If you're just here to be vague and insult me, you can fuck off," says Dan. "Gabe will be over soon, I don't need you hovering when he is."

"Does it matter that I'm here if I'm in your head?" it asks. Something brushes against Dan's upper arm, and Dan flinches. "You're jumpy today, aren't you? It's just me, Dan, jeez."

That's kind of the problem. It doesn't give Dan a chance to say so. "I didn't think you liked it when I said it out loud, but fine. You know what they want, it's what they've always wanted. They want you dead, Danny."

Dan's not sure what he expected, but it wasn't that. He feels cold all through his body very suddenly, a wave of nausea overtaking him.

"What?" he bleats, his vision going a bit blurry and his voice sounding so, so small.

Then, there's a firmer pressure on Dan's shoulders, across his chest. Encircling him. It's giving him an embrace, probably one that's meant to be comforting. Not with its cold, human-ish arms, but with the smooth, soft weight of its wings.

Dan's therapists have blamed his semi-religious upbringing for the wings. They think that he started having delusions of some kind of guardian angel when he was young, and that's why it looks the way it does.

Honestly, Dan doesn't know if that's true or not. Maybe it is. He doesn't remember the first time he saw it, after all, it's just always been there, growing at the same pace as him like another child would.

The hold should be making him panic more, because he's essentially being trapped against the couch by its wings, but Dan actually starts to feel calmer. Maybe that isn't so surprising, really. This used to make him feel so safe when he was a child, curling up with his imaginary friend and feeling its soft wings around him like a weighted blanket.

But then Dan learned that it wasn't real, that it was all in his head, that his family would watch him with wide, uncertain eyes if he kept talking about it, and its embrace stopped being a refuge.

"I won't let them hurt you," it says, with so much sincerity that Dan finds himself believing it despite all logic. 

Heat prickles at Dan's eyes, and he leans further back into the couch cushion, its nose brushing his ear and its wings tightening across his chest.

"I know," he whispers, because he does. He does know that.

He remembers the way the freezing cold water had felt against his skin that night, the last time he saw it. The moon had been little more than a sliver of light in the sky, reflecting off the gentle waves around him. He remembers feeling peaceful, for just a moment, before his reality came crashing down around his shoulders again. He remembers wanting to put his head under until everything went away again.

The only thing that had made him leave the water that night had been his imaginary friend, who had stopped showing up as frequently now that Dan was in the midst of a turbulent adolescence, and who had cheerfully waved at him from the shoreline.

So he'd ended up talking instead, about nothing in particular, until dawn started to break over the horizon. It always looked stranger in sunlight, so pale it was practically translucent, but Dan had felt so comforted by its reappearance at that particular time in his life, when it felt like he had nothing and nobody to help with the unending noise in his head.

Dan doesn't know if he would have really done anything, can't be certain, but he has a gut feeling that its presence kept him alive.

He exhales.

"You okay?" it asks, soft. 

"Yeah," says Dan. "Yeah, okay. They want me dead and you won't let them."

"That's right." The wings release him, and Dan almost sobs at the loss. He doesn't need to worry, though, because he blinks and it is beside him on the couch now, reaching out with its hands. Dan allows it to take his right hand between both of its own. "I've missed you, Danny."

It isn't real. But when Dan looks up and sees the warmth in its tri-coloured eyes and the smile that seems to have too many teeth to be quite convincingly human, he feels the logical part of his mind go numb again.

"I've missed you too, Phil," Dan whispers, watching its wings twitch happily at the admission. Its smile widens, showing off the sharp edges of its unsettling teeth.

"Stop trying to get rid of me, then," Phil says, teasingly, like it's a joke, but its grip on Dan's hand tightens to the point of pain.

Dan isn't too young to make promises anymore, and his muddled brain doesn't acknowledging the alarm signals that he's sure are going off somewhere in there. He simply nods, feeling a little more dazed the longer he looks at Phil.

It's been around as long as Dan can remember, after all, always appearing when Dan needed comfort or guidance, always keeping him safe, even from himself, always appearing as, more or less, the same age as Dan. Who is he to get rid of it? Nobody has to know if he just keeps his mouth shut this time.

These thoughts don't feel like Dan's own, but his mind is working so, so slow right now. Phil's eyes are the colour of the sea that he'd stood shoulder-deep in all those years ago, and it feels just as much like he's on the precipice of making a dangerous decision as it had then.

"Okay," says Dan. "I'll stop. You can stay."

**Author's Note:**

> big thank you to cat for making sure this was readable before i shared it with the world, you're a real one.


End file.
